How To Be Happy
by Forever Siriusly Sirius
Summary: It is with no regret, that you sit here now with only the smallest amounts of fear in your eyes that you prepare to watch your life drain away. It is time to announce game over. WARNING: Self harm, smut(well the actual sex is implied, but theres detalied snogging), suicide, depression, angst galore and heartbreak lie ahead. Bring tissues.


**_WARNING_****: Self harm, smut, suicide, depression, angst galore and heartbreak lie ahead. Read at your own risk. Bring tissues.**

**For Amber -Cheeky Slytherin Lass. I apologize that it's so late. **

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**How To Be Happy**

It is with tears in your eyes that you sit here now, holding the sharp blade against your scarred skin preparing to dig it in again and again and again and just watch the burgundy liquid flow down your wrists like a waterfall, rushing towards the ground. It is with no regret, that you sit here now with only the smallest amounts of fear in your eyes that you prepare to watch your life drain away. It is time to announce game over.

You are broken. Your pain has been building and building and growing and growing like molten magma in a volcano, rising, heating, cooling, then heating again in a vicious cycle turning into lava, rushing up and eventually exploding when you can no longer take it anymore. It is time to let the lava flow. And so you do, you dig the knife just that little bit deeper, the flow of the lava increases and it pools on the ground trickling like little streams in different directions, never staying in one place. You think sadly that it represents your life, in a way. The main pool is 'normal', it is what you are supposed to be, the Albus Severus Potter that everybody expects of you.

Each stream, some are rivers, are all the ways in which you are 'different'; each stream or river is another example of why you are 'wrong'. The width of the trickle determined how wrong you are. A little stream is no big deal; it is forgivable, like being quiet. You are allowed to be quiet, James is the noisy one. A large, fast flowing river is bad; it is very, very bad. It is the kind of bad that your parents keep hushed up and quiet for fear of what others will think. Your scars are a river.

There is no defined point as to where this mess started; you have always had a history of mental problems. You've always been the odd one out.

Your brother, he calls you a lunatic.

Your sister, she calls you a freak.

Your father, he looks at you, and then he looks at James and then at Lily, he even looks at Rose and at Hugo, and you just know he is thinking _where did we go wrong?_

_You are an alien_

That thought swirls around your brain like a drug, a very, very bad drug. It is the realisation, the final explanation- the only explanation - for everything;for your pain, for being different, for being a 'lunatic' and a 'freak'.

For being you.

You were always a sad child, you overheard your father talking to the doctor after your mother died - she really was the only one who ever truly understood you-, and you remember hearing that you were 'depressed.'

At the time you did not know what that word meant, so you looked it up. The dictionary defines depression as, _severe despondency and dejection typically felt over a period of time and accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy._

That was you,

**Despondent**.

_Hopeless_.

**Dejected**.

_Inadequate_.

An alien.

{The outsider}

You were always overlooked though weren't you?

Poor little Albus Potter the Alien, weird, the crazy one. People avoided you like the plague. You had no friends at school, you used to stand in the doorway of the classroom and watch as all the other boys and girls sat in groups, with their friends while you had no one. Once you plucked up the nerve to actually sit at one of their tables. They got up and left.

You had never felt more horrible in your life.

All you ever wanted was a friend, someone you could talk to and share jokes with, someone to play with. Someone who didn't try to trip you up in the hallways and someone who would never laugh at you and someone who would hug you when you cried, and make you laugh when you were feeling sad.

You just wanted someone to love.

Ginny Weasley-Potter had died when you were six, and you had never fully recovered. That's what the doctors all said. It was their explanation for why you were so introverted, so sensitive and so... _you - _for lack of a better word. You weren't sure if that was right. It was true that you were close to your mother. Closer to her than you were your father, closer to her than James or Lily once were. She was your best friend. She was the one who understood that you weren't into football or rowing or any other sport. She alone understood your love for music. Not only did she understand and accept your 'oddities' but she loved you for them. You always were slightly sad, always were different, it was only after she died did people begin to realise just how different you were. It was only after she died that you realised how cruel the world could be for a person like you.

A man once said '_Depression is when you have lots of love, but no one's taking it.'_

You thought that you had never seen a description of your '_problem_' (for that is what everyone calls it) so accurate.

Rose was your only friend, and she was your cousin. You had been friends since birth, you suppose, your father - when he got sick of your constant bad moods - used to dump you at your Aunt Hermione's house and leave you there. Rose was always so happy. He thought she would be good for you.

She quickly became your best friend, she could sing and she used to teach you how to play piano, she taught you funny little rhymes so you could remember which notes were line notes, and which were space notes. The memory of singing ' 'Every Good Bunny Does Flips' and 'F. A. C. E' still burn in your brain.

Somehow, around Rose, the world seemed a little less dark. Rose helped you to feel like there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Only her, and music, could ever make you feel so content.

When you sat at the piano it was like you were a whole new person, no longer were you Al the kid who has issues, no longer where you the town looser. Music made you somebody, they way your fingers just fly across the keyboard and your eyes close and you sway to the music. It was the only time you smiled, and meant it.

You were eleven the first you felt the rush that came from seeing the red waterfall. Rose and her family had gone on holiday for a month, and suddenly the world came crashing down you again.

When Rose was here, James's taunts ("Pathetic!" "_Looser!_" "Disgrace,") seemed to be little more than a needle pricking your skin, but when she was gone, that needle just grew and grew and grew until it became a knife. With every word he said, with every look of disgust he got from Lily, with every sad smile from his mother, that knife got sharper and it twisted deeper into his heart, so deep that it could never be removed.

You shot your siblings a hurt look, a look so full of despair and anger and sadness and pain that even Little Lily, who was as tough as they came almost, _almost_ looked sorry.

You ran up to your room then didn't you Albus? You hid from the world, because that is what freaks like you do isn't it? You are a coward, you run from everything.

_You are an alien, a freak, a pathetic, useless, unloved, depressed, failure._

You have this horrible little voice that is always there, in your mind, feeding off your pain and insecurities. It built them up and up and up until one day it told you something different

It told you to pick up the scissors, it told you to open them and open them wide. Then it told you to press the _sharp, shiny_, _silver _point into the vein. It said it would feel good.

So you did.

A little scruffy boy, with black hair that stuck up all over the place, you had these green eyes that were far too pain filled to belong to an ordinary eleven year old boy. (_but you weren't ordinary were you? No, there was nothing ordinary about being a freak_.)

You remember it like it was yesterday, it is exactly what you are doing now.

With tears in your eyes, and quiet sobs escaping from your mouth you gingerly reached down and you picked up the scissors. They were just ordinary scissors, with black handles and sliver blades.

You squeezed your eyes shut. A few tears glistened for a moment on your eyelashes before falling down, down, down into nothingness (just like you, you think.)

Your hands shook the first time you do this, but you managed it. You dug the point of the blade into your skin and you barely contained a cry of pain - the voice didn't tell you it would hurt! But the pain fades after a few seconds, and you slowly, oh so slowly opened your eyes. The rush left you with a feeling of euphoria, and you saw this little stream of burgundy dripping down your wrist, wrapping around it like a bracelet, staining your pale skin. It was colour, vivid, flowing beautiful colour, like the type that belongs in a painting.

The once silver tip was now stained red.

You loved it.

You discovered this method of keeping happy, and suddenly life seemed a little brighter. Rose came back from her trip, she saw the scars. You didn't tell her about the voice, you didn't tell her what it told you to do - you know she would never approve. So you lied.

The years go by, you go from a eleven year old boy who believed puberty would solve everything (After seeing what it did for James, why couldn't it do the same for you?) to a fifteen year old boy who now had more scars than fingers.

Rose was still your only friend, and even she wasn't around that much. You knew it was irrational, but you were jealous. Rose had boyfriends all the time, and it wasn't fair. You endured so much suffering on a daily basis, the crisscrossed lines that started and your wrists and grew branches, like a tree, to your arms, your thighs, to wherever you could reach, they were proof of what you went through. Didn't you deserve a little happiness? Didn't you deserve a special someone?

(_The Voice told you 'no', why would anybody want a freak like you?)_

That was when your 'problem' (other boys in your grade said that boys who liked boys were 'sick' and 'needed help' No one ever told you anything different, so you saw it as being a problem.) started, you'd always known you were different, you knew something was wrong with you when realized you preferred to look at Rose's boyfriends rather than James's girlfriends.

Sometimes you and Rose would go out, after one of her many break ups, and she'd point out girls for you, and you'd look but you didn't really see. Instead you saw the man behind her, and when you turned to Rose, you'd be gushing about the man and not the girl.

And Rose was completely oblivious.

It was a problem, you knew that, the voice told you that wanting males was wrong, it said that _normal boys like girls, and normal girls like boys. You are not normal. You are a freak._

Later when you were both eighteen years old, Rose got a boyfriend. This wasn't unusual for Rose, she had had boyfriends before. But this one was different, wasn't he?

You felt something, the first time you met. He was tall, six foot compared to your measly five foot five. He had this blond hair that was so white you thought it was dyed for a while, it shone in the moonlight and it made him look like the most beautiful fallen angel you had ever seen. You notice his muscles, bulging biceps and a shirt that was tightly clinging to his body, showing off his abs. He radiated confidence. He had a deep, powerful voice that drew you in like a bee to a honeypot. You were enchanted. His light seemed to make your shadows fade away. He made them fade so deeply into the background that you could actually pretend they didn't exist anymore. You could pretend that those jagged scars that marred your porcelain skin were really from a playground accident. You could pretend, at least for a few seconds, that you were normal.

He smiled at you, his silvery eyes full of laughter, his voice a deep tenor. For the first time, you didn't spend you nights staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds, the minutes and the hours that crawled past slowly refusing to have mercy on you. For the first time, you felt happy, or as close to happy as you could ever really get.

Then he held out his hand for you to shake, "Scorpius Malfoy," he said, his eyes showing no trace of mocking. "I hear you Weasley-Potter's can be quite protective of poor little Rosie here. Tell me, who should be most scared of? You look pretty tough, should I be on my knees begging you for mercy and swearing on my mother's life never to break Rosie's heart?"

You smiled, a big cheesy smile - someone was being nice to you, someone that wasn't Rose or your mother. Someone else cared. Your heart jumped a bit, pounding in your ears as you stammered out your name, and gave an awkward chuckle. Mentally you cursed yourself for being such an idiot. He didn't seem to notice, or else he didn't care.

You felt a tingle rave through your veins as he shook your hand.

You were brought back to reality when Rose spoke. Scorpius moved to put his arm around her shoulder, you watched with a sinking heart as Scorpius bent his head to kiss her, Rose being the perfect height for him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips moulding against his.

It wasn't fair.

You couldn't even be happy for one day before you remembered the lines that coloured your skin, and the heavy weight on your chest.

You became fast friends. One day, a few weeks later, he asked you something that would change everything.

He said, "Hey Al? You like music yeah? Do you want to learn to play guitar?"

And of course your eyes lit up, and your smile reached your eyes, and you could have jumped around your room in a stunned reverie, because Scorpius Malfoy, the fallen angel, wanted to teach you, Albus Potter, failure extraordinaire, to play guitar.

But you didn't, instead you just gave him a shy smile and readily agreed.

He invited you back to his house one day, he had texted you his address. He met you at the door and his smile made you weak at the knees.

His house was pretty, it had pictures of mountains everywhere - apparently Scorpius could paint as well as play guitar.

There was a picture on the table, of a younger Scorpius, a man who looked exactly Scorpius but older, and a pretty woman standing next to the man.

"Those are my parents," he says, noticing you staring at the photograph, "That's my father, Draco and my mother, Astoria." His voice was right next to your ear, sending small shivers down your spine. You had bit your lip to keep from sighing as his warm breath tickled the back of your neck.

You noted the picture; the older man was more regal; his white blonde hair had bits of grey on the edges, although they blended in so you couldn't really see them. His chin was pointed and his silvery eyes were stormy and his features sharp. The woman only went up to the man's chin. He had his arm snaked around her waist and a small smile tugged at his lips as he held her close. The woman had dark hair, with the most piercing green eyes he had ever seen - greener than his father's. You thought they shone with intelligence and love. She was every bit as regal as the man, though her eyes were softer. Her face was lit up by the bright smile that graced her lips as she looked at the boy. Scorpius couldn't have been more than eight in the picture, standing in front of his parents smiling a toothy, childish smile looking like the happiest child in the world as he clung to his mother's hand. They were a picture perfect family.

In that instant, you envied Scorpius. He had wealth; he had friends and a loving family. He had Rose and he was _perfect_. What must it feel like, to have that level of happiness? To feel like someone had just given you the world? To have a perfect, scar free life?

He was waiting for your comment. He only received silence. He looked at you, his gaze calculating and solemn. His eyes searched yours before he spoke again.

"We aren't a perfect family, you know. It might look like it, but we have our demons just like any other family. I had a little sister, you know. She was three years younger than I was. Ara was killed in a car accident when she was three, and I was six. Father was driving and he never ever forgave himself. I didn't understand that she wasn't coming back. I remember seeing my parents yell at each other, there was tears and fighting. I remember watching him punch the wall and then they both just looked at each other and I walked into the room and we all just cried. Mum actually moved out for a little bit, she went to stay with her sister. The point is, we aren't a perfect family. I know you have issues with yours, but you should never assume that you're the only one. I'm here for you, you know, if you need someone to talk to that isn't family. I know what you're doing, and I know what you're going through and I can help. Sometimes, a friend is all you need."

You had bit your lip and nodded, your throat was dry and you answered with silence - you didn't know how to tell him that you still thought he was perfect, despite what he had been through. Scorpius misunderstood your silence; he thought you didn't know what to say, because what _do_ you say when someone tells you their sister died and it was their fathers fault? What do you say when someone claims to know how you, the most messed up person on the planet, are feeling? When they claim to know what you are doing to yourself? What can you say when finally someone who has no obligations to you offers to be your friend?

He smiled and handed you a guitar, which you took, feeling slightly guilty that he had obviously gained the wrong idea from your silence, but you were not willing to tell him the truth.

You took the guitar from him, admiring it. You weren't an expert on guitars - you were more of a piano kind of guy - but even you could tell this was expensive.

Suddenly you're worried. What if you couldn't pick it up? What if you tried to play but failed and end up breaking the guitar he so kindly lent you? What if you failed at this too, like you fail everything?

Nervously you had sat down on the couch, holding the guitar the same way Scorpius was.

He started talking, his pale hand moving up and down the fret board, the other gently strumming the strings. You were mesmerised, following his elegant hands, loving the way they move so gracefully and so lovingly. The guitar to him was the piano to you; it was his baby, his pride and joy.

You are so caught up watching him that you didn't notice when he stopped talking, his hands never breaking the rhythm of the sound he created.

"You're watching me," he observed quietly, smiling a little, "I'm not used to have people watch me so intensely while playing. It's kind of creepy, actually."

"Oh, sorry," you respond, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You put your head down and try to mimic what Scorpius had been doing earlier, inwardly cursing yourself for being such an idiot.

_Very smart, Albus, stare creepily at your best friends' boyfriend. How much more stupid can you get?_ The voice washed over your brain, silky smooth and manipulating your brain so there was no escape from the constant abuse.

Your blush deepened, and you focused yourself on doing exactly what Scorpius did, putting your fingers where he did, moving you hands the same way his moved. You couldn't mess this up.

You started playing, it was nothing like the piano which is what you were used to but you found you liked it. You finished the piece and looked up to see Scorpius staring at you.

Gaining confidence slightly you finally spoke, "I know what you mean about people watching you being creepy," you had said cheekily, referring to his earlier statement. He blushed slightly.

"Sorry, it's just you didn't even have the notes in front of you - you just played it as if you played it for years and yet this is your first time? It's incredible." You chuckled slightly.

"If there is anything I'm good at, it's definitely music and mimicking people. I watched you play it and copied it. It's not really a big deal," you shrugged it off, not used to the positive attention.

Scorpius smiled. "That is definitely a big deal, Albus. That's an incredible talent. So if I just sat here and played something, and you watched me, you could play it?" His voice was curious, you felt a surge of pride swell up inside you and you smiled; a proper genuine big smile. Someone was in awe of you! Someone thought you had an 'incredible' talent. Someone thought you meant something. The feeling was foreign to you; the feeling of self worth, of importance, of someone genuinely caring that wasn't family.

You smiled so hard you thought your face might crack. Scorpius smiled back, this little secret smile that sent shivers down your spine and caused your still red face to blush even more. You wondered if he felt it too, the voice didn't think so.

How could he ever fancy _you_? Albus Potter, the Boy with Issues. The one who self harmed, the one with depression and who had no friends, the one who disappointed everyone.

The lessons continued and your crush on Scorpius grew to the point where it physically hurt to see him happy with Rose.

You grew closer too, becoming each other's confidents, becoming fast friends in this world where every man is to fend for himself.

Several weeks later you visited him. Not for any other reason than because he was your friend, your best friend actually. In the short time you'd known him he'd become just as important to you, if not more so, than Rose. Scorpius had become your confidant, he knew about your depression, although you hadn't told him the real reason behind your scars - he suspected, that much was obvious but you knew if you told him he'd make you tell Rose who would involve your father who would then think you even more of a weak link, of a freak, of a sadist and of a kid who needed 'help' meaning hospitals and mental institutions. Harry wouldn't understand. Scorpius never said anything, never questioned why you wore long sleeves or sometimes looked pale. You knew he knew, yet you appreciated his tact. If Rose knew she would never let it go, she would always want you to 'talk about it' and this wasn't a problem that would go away by 'talking.' Scorpius was like yours pillar of strength, he didn't care about your issues and he didn't try force you into anything. Scorpius was, in a way, your one constant. He made you laugh, he helped keep you relaxed through music but most of all, he kept you sane. And you were completely and utterly in love with him for it.

The sight you saw when you entered his home that night was not what you were expecting. Scorpius was splayed all over the couch, a bottle of vodka in his hand. The room was trashed, things were all over the floor as if Scorpius had thrown them in a fit of rage.

Cautiously you entered the room, "Scor? What's wrong?"

A derisive snort was his only response.

"Oh look, the reason for my miserable break up with Rose has finally showed his face, and even has the nerve to ask me what's wrong. That's priceless, it really is." His voice was strong, not shaking although some of his words were slightly slurred, judging by the half empty bottle Scorpius was drunk.

You felt a stab of hurt rush through you, your veins turned to ice and your heart froze. You didn't underside. He was your best friend why was he acting like this?

"Wh-what are you talking about, Scor? I-I don't understand?" Tears threatened to fall from your eyes, you couldn't handle another betrayal.

He snorted again. "Of course not, little innocent Albus Potter, not aware of the effect he has on other people, completely ignorant of everything outside his little bubble of self pity. You wanna know what's wrong? Rose thinks you're in love with me because whenever you see her all you do is gush about what we did, or what I said. According to her, I'm apparently in love with you too. She said I have a 'special smile' and that I don't 'look at her the way I look at you.' It's bullshit, that's what it is. I don't love you, I can't love you! I'm dating your goddamn cousin. I'm _straight_. Oh, and she found out about your scars. I didn't tell her out of respect for you because you are my best friend, and because it wasn't my place and yet I'm the bad guy for not telling her? One minute she's saying how great it is to see you smiling so much, the next minute she's berating me for not telling her that you self harm? I'm not stupid. I know Rose and Rose likes to meddle, which would do more harm than good. We're both acting in your best interest and yet I'm wrong? Can you see what you do to people, Albus? What you've done to us? You get better - I know it's been weeks since you last cut - and yet we all get worse. Yet, the funny thing is, I don't regret a single thing that I've done."

He was so close now, your pulse had increased and your heart was beating rapidly trying to ignore how perfect his lips were, or the shivers that the feeling of his breath on your face caused. The urge to kiss him was so strong, lust was exploding inside of you, urging you to grab him by his tie and pull those sculpted lips down to meet yours, roaring for you to hold him in your arms and feel his body tangled against yours so tightly that is was hard to know where yours ended and his began.

Metaphorical electricity crackled in the air as your eyes met. You felt lust take over you, speaking for you, making you step closer so your noses almost touched. The sexual tension was so charged, so obvious that even a blind man would know it was there.

Lust was telling you that Scorpius lied. Lust was saying that Scorpius loved you just as much as you loved him - he just didn't know it yet.

The Voice came back, _he doesn't love you, he loves Rose. He will always love Rose._

But with lust taking control, its taunts didn't bother you.

"If you are as straight as you claim to be, then kissing me won't mean a single thing - just prove to you, and prove to me, and prove to Rose that you feel nothing for me," The challenge slipped from your mouth before your usually cautious mind could process them. Before you gasp and cover your mouth and apologize like you usually would, however, Scorpius' lips covered yours. It was then that you both lost any sense of self restraint you may previously have possessed.

Warmth flooded through you, lust was roaring its approval as somehow you found yourself kissing him back.

Your eyes closed and you felt Scorpius' tongue run roughly along your bottom lip, the time for being gentle was long gone. You shivered and moaned into his mouth. Your hands ran up his body just as his ran along yours promoting more moans from you both. Goosebumps appeared along your naked flesh when his hands slid underneath your shirt, up your chest and down around your back feeling everything. You raised your arms, and Scorpius in his drunken and lust fuelled state complied pulling it forcefully over your head, tearing it slightly in the process. You could feel his arousal pressing against your core, your bodies were pressed together and your hands were in his hair and his were on your now naked waist holding you tightly to him. His mouth which had separated from yours in the removal of your shirt now met yours again in a bruising kiss, and you moaned loudly, the euphoria from his kiss was better than any euphoria you had ever felt from when you cut. His tongue took advantage of your moan to slip into your mouth, fighting yours for dominance, exploring every inch, running over your teeth and gums leaving a tingling sensation behind. He back you up, your breath coming in short gasps your body screaming for more. He pinned you against the wall and you protested quietly when his mouth left yours. He met your eyes, both were darkened by lust and desire and he smirked, knowing how much it infuriated you. You growled impatiently, but that quickly turned into a gasp as his lips made their way down your neck, kissing, sucking, biting. Your eyes closed again in pleasure.

It was about then that you realised he still had far too many clothes on. With strength you didn't know you possessed you flipped him around so now it was him pinned against the wall, although he still had that blasted smirk on his face. You slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, kissing the parts of his chest exposed as you went, revelling in his shudders and moans, enjoying the feeling of his hardened arousal against your stomach, knowing you were the cause of it. Finally his buttons were undone revealing a toned chest. You ran you hands down it, he knew you were teasing him on purpose and he groaned as you carefully kissed your way down from his lips to his collar bone to his belly button and back up again carefully taking pulling the shirt off his shoulders as you went, but leaving his tie. His hands leave feather light touches down your exposed arms, causing you to shiver.

The night continued, more clothes were lost, more kisses and unsatisfied moans and desire filled groans filled it. They made it to Scorpius' bedroom where finally both parties were finally fully satisfied after a night of teasing before finally falling asleep. You had never felt more content than you were when you were curled up against Scorpius' side, and his arm was loosely around you, keeping you close. You prayed that it would last, but good things always had a habit of being dangled right in front and promptly pulled away, out of your reach but not out of sight. It was cruel, but it was what you had come to expect from life.

You woke up and Scorpius was gone. A little note on the table only proved to emphasis the hatred the universe appeared to have for you.

_"Potter,_

_Last night never happened. I was drunk. It meant nothing. I won't be confining our guitar lessons, and I expect you to be out of the house by the time I get back._

_Goodbye, Albus."_

That was how you came to be in your current situation. Scorpius and Rose have broken up, he moved out of town to live with his parents never to return, she in turn blames you for the break up. All your allies had suddenly become enemies all at once and it is all your fault. Your heart has been broken, then shattered, then stomped on and crushed and now burned into ashes. Everyone you care about is dead or gone, James was worse than ever, he had always been close to Rose and so naturally he would take her side.

You sit here now, you have nothing left to live for. The world would be a better place if you weren't here - the voice has told you that over and over and over again and only now that the last good thing in your miserable existence has been torn away from you that you realise it's true.

You are like a parasite, when you were little you caught a fever and passed it onto your already ill mother, subsequently causing her death. You are the reason your perfect siblings lost a mother, your hard working, loving father who tried to understand you, he really did, lost his wife. You are the reason James and Lily sometimes got a hard time at school, despite their popularity no one can forget their freak of a brother who continually brings shame upon their family. You are the reason Rose got bullied because she never gave up on you, yet in return for her kindness and her friendship you destroyed her relationship with Scorpius, you drove away many of her friends. You destroyed your own friendship with Scorpius. You even drove him out of town.

Looking back at your life you realise that it was you who caused everything bad that ever happened was _your fault_ and the damn breaks. The blood flows faster, it drips causing more streams and it mingles with your salty tears to create a river of blood. You feel no euphoria this time, just pain and sadness and guilt and regret. You are a bit scared, you are a coward - they say that suicide is the worst thing you can do, but those who say that have never felt the excruciating pain and never ending loneliness that you have. Those are the optimistic people, the ones who have never destroyed another persons' life, those who have never had every single person they know turn against them. Those are the people who try but will never understand. Those are the people who can't see how deep your scars run.

_Maybe heaven can forgive me,_ was your final thought before you dug the blade deeper then you had ever gone before, literally watching your life drain before your very eyes.

Tears drip slowly down your face, your hands shake a little bit, but you know it is for the best. You don't want to die, but there is no point in living a life where you just feel alone and cold and unwanted all the time. You want to _live_. You want a happy life where you are normal. You want a life where you don't need to turn to self harm in order to feel happy. You want friends, a proper family. You want what you can't have.

Somewhere, off in the distance of your mind, the voice laughs.

The knife goes in one last time, and this time, it's final.

* * *

**AN:** thank you to my beautiful Nayla for beta-ing, she is the nicest, sexiest, most amazing person I have ever met in my life and I love her so much.

This was written for a few challenges, Sylvia's Modern!AU, and February GGE for Amber. There was a multitude of prompts used, most of which I've forgotten.

I hope you liked this, I've never written anything so _graphic _before and if you could tell me what you thought I'd be honoured. It's the longest fic I've ever written, and it makes my total word count just over 100k :) I'm rather proud of it.


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